


Prey On

by Gaearnith



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Assassin's Creed - Rouge
Genre: Assassination, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fighting, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-15 09:18:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18495958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaearnith/pseuds/Gaearnith
Summary: You first saw him among the fire and carnage of Lisbon.And, without much thought, you followed him.And followed.Until there was nowhere else for you to go.





	1. Smoke and Ash

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd.  
> Alternate title: I wrote this late at night with no real plan, only love.  
> Don't mind any mistakes you may find haha. I really don't know what I'm doing with this.  
> Comments are appreciated!  
> Honestly... I don't know if I'll keep this work up lol. Might take it down ahh  
> EDIT: I'm keeping it the heck up because of all the lovely responses and also,,, I edited it :)

Gone was the peaceful city you'd come to love over the years.

Buildings turned to ash and crumbled as tremors shook the ground. They swept through your body almost painfully, making your teeth chatter and your knees buckle. People floundered through the streets, knocking each other off balance, frenzied. Some were shedding tears, others calling for a friend or family members, while others saved their breath for fleeing. The panic that had settled over the town infected everyone, yourself included.

Your palms, rubbed raw and bleeding from stumbling too many times, sought purchase in order to avoid further injury. Scrapes and darkening bruises decorated the skin of your knees, some bleeding, others stinging. The meticulously sewed material of your robes, now torn and battered, had been dirtied. So much that all colours adorning it were imperceptible.

Leaning your weight against one of the stubborn houses still standing, you peer at the sky.

The sun, once a refreshing source of energy, burned your heated skin. Drops of sweat rolled down your temples. Somewhere in the distance, a house explodes and bursts into flames. They lap at neighbouring structures and singed the clothing still hanging outside windows.

Ahead of you, a crowd surged forward, oblivious to the danger awaiting them. Your lips struggle to form the necessary words and your lungs are dry from the billows of smoke. Throat dry from your greedy gasping for air, you watch, mortified. First, the roof tiles and debris, then the beams of wood. They crush the unsuspecting civilians and send a gust of wind in your general direction. Those that manage to dodge them scream louder than before, patting their clothing frantically to extinguish the flames.

A woman cradles her baby close to her chest, words you don't understand tumbling from her lips. The throbbing in your head worsened and the ringing in your left ear doubles - _triples_ in volume. A cringe distorts your features and you keel over in barely contained fear. Gingerly, you touch your forehead with two fingers. They fall away coated in glistening crimson. You _had_ slammed into the ground several times.

Another deafening explosion, another series of yells and bodies toppling. Vaguely, you note the increase in volume and how it is not as distant as you originally presumed. Windows shatter and glass descends from above. The glittering pieces land in your hair and cut the skin of your arms as you protect yourself. A string of red and green banners snaps in half and lands in front of you, swiftly crushed by a wall. Pushing off the trembling house, you will your mind and aching body to carry you on to safety.

People scurry past you, shielding whatever wounds they'd sustained with bloodied hands. Some crane their necks to glance at you but make no move to help you. You are too in shock to really acknowledge anything they say. Every good samaritan intent on assisting you gives up after that.

And then, the street is empty. Devoid of everyone alive and existing in this gory nightmare.

You can hear the cacophony of sobs combined with howls of agony. People confined within their home clamber down the ledges and bricks jutting out from the sides. Some fall as the earth startles violently and do not make another move. When you check your hands again, they're caked with grime and dirt and sticky from your blood. 

Gravel and dirt crackle under your scraping feet. Amber cinders dot the air and dance around you, clinging to your frame. The flames engulfing the street and swallowing your only means of backtracking creep closer. You keep moving.

_You have to keep moving._

A grunt pierces the fogginess of your mind. Dizzily, your eyes find the source of the sound. You would have jolted to a halt if it weren't for the heat warming the nape of your neck.

There was a man climbing the buildings. He slid through a window smoothly then burst out the other side, leaping onto the next platform. 

_Assassin._

The word ghosted past your lips, unheard as you observed how he moved. You would chase after him, demand answers and maybe try to drag him back to your ship, but you couldn't. Your body hardly responded to the notion of _running_. He'd most likely kill you if you tried, anyway. How could you catch him if you couldn't even engage in combat?

 _Was this his fault?_ You wondered, feeling the adrenaline begin to invade your system. The pain dulled as rage bubbled under the surface of your skin. _Why was an assassin here, of all places?_

There was no time to find out. Whatever these people had planned, it meant absolutely nothing to you now. Still, you kept your eyes on him, jogging to keep him in your line of vision. He stumbled when the roof of his new stepping stone caved.

Your fists clenched. The wild beating in your ribcage stuttered momentarily.

Both of you fled from the scene adjacent to each other, determined and desperate. The wind caressed the irritated skin of your cheeks, cooling it and swiping any tears that escaped your watery eyes. You struggled to keep up with his brisk pace.

The path ahead is blocked – a result of the earthquake still shaking the earth. But you don't know where else to turn. You scan your surroundings, hair tossing in all directions before you spot an alleyway. Ducking into the tight space, you weave through the city, following the man.

You shouldn't be tailing him. The only thing this organization seemed capable of is pain and injury. Each step you forced from your weary body only reinforced your belief.

_He's responsible for this._

_It's the only reasonable explanation._

_Why else would_ this _happen?_

Flames tear through a wall on his right. He staggers, resting his hands on a beam and pushing off it with a shaky cry. Glancing behind him, he stares at the carnage he'd created, wide-eyed. He doesn't linger, though, and hurries on without any more interruption. It threw you off. Never in your life had you seen an assassin take a moment to asses the damage they'd done. Most if not all the time, they acted irrationally then skipped along, blades smeared in blood that did not need to see the light of day.

The assassin lands on his last platform, footsteps thunderous. The black and white tiles curve upwards and lead him towards the safety you'd so stupidly forgone. And _for what?_

He disappears soon afterwards. And so does any reason to entertain this madness any longer.

You barely manage to reach the dock, where people are still piling onto ships in order to evacuate. Joining a flock of distraught women, your feet pound against the wood as you finally, _finally_ board a ship.

Still, you do not rest.

Your eyes search the horizon, hands gripping the railing as the ship rocks with the enraged ocean. Water crashes against the hull, obstructing your sight briefly.

Far in the horizon, you see it.

A ship swaying in the waves, idle and as innocent as any other. Except, that's not what your skillful eye finds. Aboard the vessel, a flabbergasted crew and assassin absorb the sight of your fragmented home collapsing in front of them. 

Your grip on the splintering wood tightened tenfold. 

The past you'd accepted.

But this was murder. This was unacceptable. Your home had been torn apart by  _him_ , that  _assassin_ , under orders of people you'd once indirectly associated with. And now they'd wrecked and destroyed your life  _again._

You would not let them get away. This time, you were putting an end to their schemes.

You would rip their  _brotherhood_ to _shreds_.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, second chapter.  
> There's a lot in mind that I'd like to say, but since I don't want to fill the notes with word vomit, I'll try to keep it short.  
> First, this needs to be edited lmao.  
> I, against my original plans, had to introduce a new character - an OC, if you will. Though, he's not too important to the story. I don't want to spoil the chapter so I'll explain my reasoning in the notes below.  
> This chapter focuses on the reader's background and the aftermath of the earthquake, mostly. There will also be more on that below.  
> I did a crap ton of research on the assassin's and man oh man, it's both inspiring and absolutely dreadful. Still fun, though haha.

Two weeks since the massive earthquake and Lisbon had not recovered in the slightest. Reparations were being done to the city's most important structures, like chapels and churches, and those whose homes were destroyed in the mayhem sought refuge within them. Traipsing through the streets was more tedious than fruitful; each corner you turned seemed blocked by some sort of structure. Workers slogged away, hammering and carrying things to and fro. Charitable men and women handed necessities to those that were in need, like blankets or scraps of food.

Miraculously, you were one of the many lucky ones. The building you resided at had suffered little damage. Flames had picked at one of the walls, and the windows had all shattered, but you could not complain. While dirtied and scattered throughout your abode, your belongings remained intact. You had a bed, blankets, and food that you shared with the other residents. You managed and adapted to your situation swiftly in order to aid in whatever you could.

While perusing through your home, you heard a series of knocks at your door. Head whipping in the direction of the noise, your eyes met with an old man's. Instantly, you recognized him and sent him a smile, setting a book aside to greet him.

“Fabricio,” You smiled warmly at the elder, who invited himself inside with a nod. He leaned heavily on his cane, back bowed. Heaving a sigh, he muffled a cough with his sleeve. “How have you been, sir?” Your Portuguese is choppy and heavily accented despite your constant usage of the language. The man grins cheekily, endlessly amused by your struggle.

“I am fine,” He says in English that is just as flawed. Fabricio walks further in the room. Without hesitation, you procure a chair for him to sit. The manner in which he sighs in relief is troubling.

“You should not be up and about so much...” You comment, occupying the seat across from his. The old man swings his cane at your calf weakly.

“I'm not so old.” He speaks in his mother tongue, voice gravelly. “The streets are all blocked. It is hard to navigate them.”

“I'm well aware.” You reply tiredly, rubbing your eyes. You feel a pang of pain in your back, a reminder of your aimless wandering on your way home. “But you did take me in so I could take care of you, sir.” Fabricio chuckles at your grumbling.

“How many times must I repeat myself...” He mumbles afterwards. “There is no need for formalities. It has been years since you arrived.”

“I'm not sure I understand, sir.” You joke, refusing to forgo the title. He deserved respect for his inexhaustible kindness. Fabricio's withering glare is weakened by the amused pursing of his lips. Gingerly, he removes his hat and sets it on the table, running his fingers through his white hair.

You study his features, eyebrows furrowed. “Perhaps you should head to bed.”

“That would be most wise, I think.” He nods, already rising from his chair. You gently grip his elbow and rest your other hand on his shoulder. Leading him toward his bedroom, you help him change and pull back the covers. He fusses a lot, and dismisses your constant fretting, but eventually lies down.

When the old man has settled down, you pull up a chair from the sitting area and sit by his bed. He cracks one eye open and glances at your feet. You do the same, finding nothing out of the ordinary.

“Like a cat.” The old man comments in his broken English, then closes his eye once more. His breathing is somewhat ragged, which worries you. Both the air and smoke had cleared, but it seemed to be troubling him still. You were surprised that he'd even survived the earthquake, as he had made no effort to run away and simply accepted whatever fate was in store. When you dashed back home, you ignored people's cries and warnings and rushed inside. He was on the floor, bleeding from injury on his head, but conscious and happy to see you.

You pushed the memory of your shaking hands and the burning of your lungs as they tended to the old man aside. He confused you, even to this day, and there would be no more time for you to try and understand him or his way of thinking.

Guilt roiled in your stomach, heavy and cumbersome. It formed a tight knot in your throat and made your hands fidget uneasily. The conviction the sighting of the assassin inspired had not left you. In fact, the more you waited, the more strength it gained. Each day you spent itching to hop on a ship and set sail.

There is a pregnant pause as you think of what to say next.

“I can hear your thoughts from here...” Fabricio mumbles sleepily. A quick glance in his direction shows that he hasn't even opened his eyes. You sigh loudly, listening to the hustling outside. The wooden boards you'd sloppily nailed to cover the windows did not keep noise at bay.

“Fabricio,” You call softly, “During the incident, I...” Pausing, you grip your skirt, images of the assassin flashing before your eyes. “I saw one of them.”

“Assassin?” He asks, expression morphing from serenity to one of pensiveness.

“Yes,” You answer, reaching for the blanket and tucking it under his chin. “And you know me. I see one of their ilk and-”

“You are reminded of what you were meant to become.” He finishes for you, words slurring near the end of his sentence.

“And so... I've decided that...” You place a hand on the man's shoulder. The need to shed a few tears pains your throat. “Well, I think the time for me to leave has come, Fabricio.”

It pains your heart to finish that sentence.

“Ships have returned to the docks,” He comments idly. A gust of wind rattles the wood on the windows. You fear the boards might fall off, but make no move to ensure they remain in place.

Ships had begun filing in days ago. Most if not all had been sent out to gather fish and supplies for the weakened city. You waited out the rest of the earthquake in the sea, stomach churning and legs shaking. Violent waves threw you off balance time and time again, but you powered through all of that. All of it you survived to watch the assassin's sloop sail away. _Typical assassin._

The robes he donned were ones you did not recognize. They were unlike anything you'd ever seen, but you had an idea of his origin.

“Do you think you'll return?”

You pause. That thought you had tossed around for a while, but you saw no positive outcome. Were you to return after concluding your business with the assassins... things would go awry. And fast.

Wordlessly, you study Fabricio, the old man you'd lived with for so long. He remained unaware of your upbringing and past life. Even so, he was never suspicious of you. He was never bothered by your keen eye or your ability to defend yourself or your swiftness. Though you had frightened him a good number of times, he never asked questions.

Needless to say, you were grateful.

And though the truth was far from pleasant, you could not lie.

“I don't think so, sir.”

The old man shifted in his bed, finally opening his dark eyes. His intense stare unsettled you and only worsened your guilt, but you refused to look away. When faced with trouble or danger, you could not cower.

“I'll try and send letters?” You offered quietly. It earned you a breezy laugh.

“Please.” Fabricio conceded in a whisper.

You sat by his side until his breathing evened out and he was fast asleep. The sun was setting, darkening the room and making stumbling a rather prominent possibility. Then, you rose, wincing when the chair creaked, and scurried out of the room.

You had already begun packing when the old man arrived. The book you had in your hands before he entered was one of the key items of your journey. Heading to your room, you hauled a knapsack off the floor and brought it to the table in the kitchen. The journal, stuffed with wayward papers and documents, sat on a desk where you worked. It was there you poured over the contents scribbled on the pages. You placed it with your knapsack then stopped completely.

Slowly, you flipped through the first few pages, stopping when you saw the sketch of your mother.

Her black eyes seemed to pierce yours, unwavering gaze intimidating you even after so many years. There were no similarities between you two, which had saddened you when you were younger. Now, you looked at this image and thanked God for your differences, from your mannerisms to your views of the world.

Her scowl and lowered brows seemed to be carved into her visage, her features strong and weather-beaten. Born in the Caribbeans to a poor family, she had spent most of her early life involved with the assassin brotherhood located in the West Indies. Then, she left, joining the Saint-Domingue brotherhood.

Flipping the page, you found a stack of her letters. There were four in total, but only two of them really mattered. One was addressed to a member of the Saint-Domingue Brotherhood. The first three years of your life were summarized in this one piece of paper. From the still unknown death of your parents to your adoption. Your mother seemed excited to begin training you and carving the ways of assassins into your bones. You had been, too.

The second letter was addressed to a certain man by the name of Achilles. Your mother died before she could send it to him.

_1750_

_Achilles,_

_The Saint-Domingue Brotherhood of Assassins has strayed from the path. Though I have not stepped foot near their premises in these eight years, I've learned of their methods. I fear that since my departure, their brotherhood continues to fall deeper into madness._

_Despite her doubts and endless questions, my daughter continues to make progress. She has potential and, under my tutelage, has developed her skills to a level that rivals my own._

_This is the last of my letters to you, old friend. I apologize for my silence. I have received your letters and applaud your advancements in New York._

_Iza._

Did she truly mean that last statement?

The paper fell from your hands with a flutter.

...was she proud of the assassin's work?

You shook your head, the fury from the earthquake resurfacing with vengeance. You resisted the urge to throw the table across the room, for Fabricio needed his rest. Age had not been kind on his body and with the recent events, you worried for his health. Still, you knew of the man's resourcefulness. He would be fine without you.

Mood soured, you collected the letters and tucked them into the journal. You would go over its contents when you were on a ship to New York.

You gathered the last of the items needed for the trip. There were many things you had to leave behind; books and other keepsakes as well as a detailed portrait of your mother. At least it was not as painful as last time. This time you were leaving because you wanted to.

When your bag was packed, you change into new clothing. The shirt and lose pants had permanent lines etched in them from lack of wear. Though you had no reason to disguise yourself, you'd rather reach your destination unscathed. Should you let the men of the crew know your gender...

You shuddered.

You were headed to New York for a cause, not to be tried for murder.

When you were done, your eyes roamed your home for the past five years. It had changed quite a lot during your stay. You'd decorated and furnished it, all to thank Fabricio, who worked to provide for the two of you.

Huffing, you smile at the first trinket you'd purchased. Sitting on a small cabinet, a simple candle burned passionately. One that had guided you at night when you couldn't sleep or Fabricio needed something. Its flame danced idly, chasing away the shadows in the room. A tiny change to the man's household that had saved you from one too many accidents.

...were you even capable of more?

 _No._ You thought firmly. _I will not doubt myself now._

You would face the assassins and do whatever it took to diminish their influence, even if it killed you. You'd do it for yourself, your mother, and all those she tried to protect in her lifetime.

Steeling your nerves, you end the flame's existence with a blow and walk out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to elaborate on a few things:  
> \- I read that women weren't really allowed to work, so I had the main character stay inside and aid Fabricio.  
> \- EDIT: I forgot to finish my sentence??? lMao ok so: the reason I had "main character is not supposed to be white..." is because of MORE past stuff. I wanted to add more to this chapter but I also didnt want to give too much away SO im sorry if you read that sentence and thought that I was being a weirdo. it was weird lmao.

**Author's Note:**

> <3


End file.
